


don't eat the miind honey (unless you're prepared to get royally fucked up)

by trashmage



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Homestuck Shipping Olympics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmage/pseuds/trashmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Submission for the Homestuck Shipping Olympics.  Team Eridan♠Sollux, yeah!  Prompt; cliché.  I chose <i>In Vino Veritas</i> [confessions of love--or otherwise, in this case--while under the influence of alcohol/drugs/magic/truth serum/etc.].</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't eat the miind honey (unless you're prepared to get royally fucked up)

**Author's Note:**

> Pun in the title was very, very much intentional. ~~I am a terrible person and I have no regrets.~~
> 
> It's pretty shitty, sorry. It was a rush-job and is as-of-yet unbeta'd, but I'm lazy and want to play _Dragon Age: Origins_ , so bluh.

In all honesty, Sollux doesn’t know how, why, or when exactly he’d gotten into the mind honey. All he knows is that he’s high as hell, and somehow standing (very nearly swaying on the spot, more-like) outside Eridan’s room, with a hand-half-raised to knock.

He pauses, forcing his scrambled mind to take a moment to weigh his options. He has a lot of options. Not a lot of them make much (if any) sense, granted, and some of them are so out there he just _knows_ they’re only crossing his mind because he’s not quite sober.

At all.

Which goes to say, that simply leaving is most definitely, without a doubt, his best option right now.

That said, he honestly doesn’t know why he doesn’t take it. Except that the door in front of him suddenly looks compellingly inviting, and he brings his fist down on it before his brain can catch up in time to tell his body ‘no’.

It takes less than ten seconds for the door to swing open—of course the nookstain would be in a hurry to answer, sleeping or not. Sollux can’t imagine he got many visitors, if any at all.

Especially in the wee hours of morning.

Fucking hell, what has he gotten himself into?

Eridan watches him from the doorway, bleary-eyed and face unobstructed by those stupid glasses.

“Sol? Wwhat the fuck are you doin' here?”

Sollux blinks, staring back at Eridan dumbly as his brain scrambles for something to say; some way to explain himself without further damaging what’s left of his pride. But he has nothing. He should just leave, just get the hell out of here and forget this had ever happened. Which, in all likelihood, is bound to happen anyway. The mind honey tended to do that.

He should leave, his feelings be damned, and by the time morning rolls around—proper morning anyway, when they’d all be getting up—he could convince them both that Eridan had only been dreaming if the loser bothers to bring it up, and no one would be the wiser.

He should waste this opportunity. This perfect, senseless opportunity that probably (if he’s lucky) will never present itself again, and they all will be better off for it.

But it isn’t enough.

It isn’t enough to just sit by and pretend that it doesn’t affect him; watching in silence, day after day, pretending like he’s too good for this. It isn’t enough to hold it all in; to wait, and to daydream, and take care of his frustrations alone.

He’d thought it was enough.

And he knows, somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, that he’ll hate himself for this come morning.

But it isn’t morning yet, and when he realizes, suddenly, that Eridan is still staring at him in wait for an answer—

“I hate you.”

Wait.

Wait, no.

That isn’t what he’d meant to say, not yet. But before he can even reconsider his course of action, before he can take a even single step back, before he can even _blink_ —Eridan has grabbed him by the front of the shirt and yanked him inside, near-slamming the door behind him.

And suddenly Sollux finds himself pressed up against a wall, hands uselessly clinging to Eridan’s upper arms.

“I don’t find this funny at all, so if you think you’re bein' clevver you can fuck off,” Eridan snarls, leaning in close. “I’m sick a’ you teasin’ me, and makin’ fun a’ me all the time. But this is takin' it too far, Sol.”

“Okay, tho I’m a complete athhole, glad we’ve got that out in the open,” Sollux growls, hating that he has to explain himself. Well. He doesn’t have to. But he’s already dug himself a hole, and if he wants anything to come of his stupidity, he may as well climb into it. “But think about it, have I ever thaid anything I didn’t actually mean?”

Eridan’s eyes widen and now it’s his turn to blink. “Wwell…no, at least I don’t think so. But you expect me t’believve—”

“That _jutht maybe_ , I might hate you back?” Sollux interrupts. He’s quickly growing impatient, and the honey’s effect on his mind isn’t helping the matter. At all. “I thought thith wath what you wanted. For fuck’th thake, I knew thith wath a bad idea. Jutht…let me go if you don’t want what I’m offering. We can forget any of thith ever happened, and pretend that I never actually lowered mythelf to fucking confeth to you in the firtht plathe, how’th that?”

‘That’…seems to finally get through to the seadweller, and make him realize that Sollux is in fact telling the truth. “…I dunno wwhat’s up wwith you Sol, but…” He pauses briefly, lips twitching, and then he leans in even closer still; close enough that Sollux can feel his breath against his mouth. “Wwhat exactly is it that you’re offerin’?”

Oh.

Well.

Suddenly, Sollux isn’t sure he really knows the answer to that himself.

And so, “Uthe your brain, idiot. What do you think I’m offering? What do you _want_?” He squirms a little, digging his claws into the muscle beneath his palms.

“A kismesissitude wwith you, that’s wwhat,” Eridan replies surely. “As for wwhat that implies…let’s find out.”

By the time Sollux’s mind catches up with the seadweller’s words, he doesn’t give him a chance to add anything more onto that statement. His lips are upon him in an instant; all teeth and snarls, and he knows he’d caught the seadweller off-guard when Eridan suddenly stumbles back away from the wall, dragging Sollux with him.

“Shit Sol, you taste like honey…” he mumbles, breathless and through bloodied lips, as he breaks the kiss for air. Even through his drugged-up haze, Sollux sees Eridan’s eyes widen, and then—slowly—a smirk forms on the seadweller’s lips; his fangs glistening savagely in the dim lighting.

“So that’s wwhat’s goin’ on. I should a’ knowwn.”

“You thoulda known…nothing.” Wait. He realizes belatedly that that doesn’t even make sense. Way to get in a good comeback. “Jutht shut up and kith me again, or I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leavve if y’can’t get to the door.”

But before he can respond to _that_ , Eridan does as instructed and kisses him again. Hard.

Probably all for the best, considering speech really doesn’t seem to be Sollux’s forte right now, and every time he opens his mouth he only makes more of a fool of himself.

His feet are moving before his mind even registered that he’s walking, and he vaguely notes that Eridan is leading them further back into the room. Where, Sollux has no idea…not until he finds himself being turned around, and his knees collide with something soft.

The bed.

Eridan’s bed.

_Oh._

Something tells him that maybe ‘oh’ is just a bit of an understatement, and that he should probably be freaking out just a little more here at this point, but he’s just too high to care.

He only realizes that they’re still kissing the moment Eridan shoves him away. Down. Onto the bed.

Oh.

Sollux doesn’t do much more than blink as Eridan places a knee on the mattress, directly between his legs, and leans forward and down over him.

And they're kissing again.

Naturally, the kissing leads to touching; roaming hands, claws digging and ripping into each other’s flesh, and the accumulating blood only serves to further their need. Need for…whatever this is.

When Sollux finds his shirt being pulled over his head, while he himself simply tears Eridan’s zipper down in a fit of impatience, he notes with a vague sense of amusement that he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning. Maybe that’s not something to be amused at. But then, this is something that, as far as his sober self is concerned, shouldn’t be happening to begin with.

Maybe it’ll all work out.

Or maybe he’ll wake in Eridan’s bed in the morning, angry and confused, with only the dull ache in his backside as a clue to the previous night’s activities.

Maybe he’ll flip the fuck out and blame it all on the seadweller, unsuspecting of his own level of participation and unwilling to believe a single word Eridan tries to say otherwise.

And maybe it’ll only make him hate the purpleblood more. Sometimes things just work out that way.


End file.
